


The telltale sound

by robotboy



Series: The Doksany Stories [8]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Athos/D'Artagnan discussed, Episode Related, Episode: s01e08 The Challenge, M/M, MuskiesRewatch, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-15 19:30:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13037865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robotboy/pseuds/robotboy
Summary: The Inseparables reconvene after the tournament between the Red Guards and the Musketeers.





	The telltale sound

It was Aramis who came to him first. Aramis who barged through his door without knocking, pushed Porthos up against the wall, and hit him with a bruising kiss. He didn’t relent until Porthos grabbed his shoulders, keeping him steady, and then he slouched until he was nestling against Porthos’ chest.

Porthos petted Aramis’ hair. ‘I’m not going anywhere,’ he assured him.

‘I  _know_ ,’ Aramis muttered. ‘Kiss me anyway.’

Porthos rolled his eyes, but he did kiss Aramis. He didn’t mention Madame Marchand, Agnés, or Adele; he  _certainly_ didn’t mention Her Majesty. Aramis’ possessiveness may be hypocritical, but it also made him an excellent lover. In a mood like this, he would take the time to remind Porthos of every reason they belonged side by side.

Because Aramis was demanding his attention so thoroughly, Porthos didn't come up for air until Aramis’ knees were weakening. He smoothed Aramis’ hair back with both hands, reassuring him they were still close. Then he looked over at Athos standing in the doorway. Aramis seemed to sense the same, twisting in Porthos’ embrace.

‘Didn't you see our newest Musketeer to his quarters?’ Porthos asked.

Athos nodded stiffly.

‘Then what are you doing here?’ Aramis’ voice was laden with innuendo.

Athos stared at the floor, then he began to back out of the room.

‘Hey,’ Porthos said, stalling Athos and scolding Aramis in one word. ‘It's alright. Stay with us.’

Athos hesitated. It was Aramis who broke away to take both Athos’ hands: as evident as it was that Athos didn't want to leave, he would need to be dragged inside. ‘What's the matter? Was he too lovesick?’

Athos shrugged. ‘There was no reason to think…’

‘Of course there was,’ Aramis said. ‘But no need for it to be tonight. He adores you, Athos. And so do we.’

‘He needs a good night’s sleep,’ Athos mumbled, as Aramis drew him into a hug. Porthos wrapped his arms around both of them. Athos sighed, and for a moment Porthos thought he would crumple. Instead he reached tightly for both of them, one hand finding its way inside Porthos’ shirt. He sought Aramis’ mouth and soon they were kissing one another. Porthos grinned as he steered both of them toward his bed.

Athos had been disappointed: none of them had really said it, but there was an air of expectation in the tournament. After the intensive training between Athos and D’Artagnan; after D’Artagnan finally became one of them; after  _months_ of simmering tension; Porthos realised he had assumed this would be the night. Perhaps he’d miscalculated: after all, Aramis had bet him it would take months yet. Athos was hardly direct in his seductions. D’Artagnan wasn’t to know his affections were returned.

If Athos were truly crestfallen, he’d have withdrawn to his room to sulk. But he hadn’t: he’d come here.

Here, Aramis was undressing him as Porthos rubbed the tension from his shoulders.

‘Today was a victory,’ Porthos reminded him, lips brushing the shell of Athos’ ear. Athos’ head fell back, a sliver of vivid blue revealing he was looking at Porthos. ‘He did it.  _We_ did it.’

‘And we should celebrate,’ Aramis purred, trailing his lips down Athos’ chest.

When Aramis reached Athos’ belly, Athos stirred and tugged Aramis’ hair. ‘Didn’t I interrupt you two?’

‘If you want to watch, you can ask us,’ Porthos said, between mouthing at Athos’ neck. Aramis was holding Athos’ hips in his hands, nuzzling his belly.

‘You are welcome here, Athos,’ Aramis assured him.

Athos breathed a slow, ragged sigh. He sunk into Porthos, reaching loosely to stroke the hair at the base of Porthos’ neck. His eyes slid between the two of them, perhaps hoping they would assume his answer.

‘Yes,’ he said eventually. His voice gained a velvety growl. ‘I want to watch you.’

Porthos hummed approvingly. Judging by Athos’ shiver, he could feel it reverberating where his back rested on Porthos’ chest. Aramis crawled sinuously back up Athos’ body until he was sitting in Athos’ lap. He leaned over Athos’ shoulder to catch Porthos in a kiss. Ironically, Athos likely couldn’t see much, but to have him pressed between them, protected, would give Athos much of what he needed.

Aramis’ tongue wove into Porthos’ mouth, making Porthos’ cock twitch. Athos felt it, shifting his arse and provoking another twitch. The next move of Athos’ hips was more purposeful, and Porthos had to drag his lower lip from between Aramis’ teeth to ask: ‘Sure you don’t want some of that?’

Athos rumbled curiously, lounging further into Porthos, but he shook his head. ‘I’m not sure Aramis could bear it.’

‘You’d be amazed what I can bear,’ Aramis quipped back. They were smiling at each other, and while Porthos had been kissing Aramis, Athos had unlaced his shirt and braies.

‘Now, now,’ Porthos said to Aramis. ‘You do look so nice with your feathers ruffled.’

‘I don’t mind which of you ruffles my feathers,’ Aramis finished removing his shirt. ‘But someone should.’

‘That’s a terrible entendre,’ Athos informed him.

‘Best find something else to do with my mouth, then,’ Aramis said pertly.

Athos didn’t hesitate: he gripped Aramis’ jaw and pulled him closer. It quickly turned gentle, his fingers slipping into Aramis’ mouth. Aramis moaned, suckling them down, while Porthos rid himself of his clothes and watched. The two still pushed and pulled at one another, eventually pitching over onto the sheets. When Athos withdrew his hand, his fingers were glistening.

‘Why don't you give me those?’ Porthos suggested. He kicked his braies off and swung a leg over Athos in a loose straddle. Athos raised his eyebrows, twisting his hand curiously.

Porthos looked to Aramis. ‘You want to have me tonight, don’t you?’

Aramis purred, helping ease his thighs wider. ‘I always have you,’ he grinned, but his eyes were sincere. ‘Shall I get the oil while Athos gets you started?’

Porthos could only nod, because Athos was already reaching under him. Athos trailed a firm line from his tailbone, circling his hole once and continuing until he was just behind Porthos’ balls. He pushed, and Porthos almost lost his balance. It was Aramis, returning victorious to the bed with oil, who kept him steady.

Athos rubbed against that spot a few times, making Porthos groan. Pleasure bloomed from his spine to his thighs, and he gripped the headboard to keep from collapsing. Athos had mercy on him, touch slinking back until a blunt fingertip was pressed into him, up to the first knuckle. It was a little raw, with only Aramis’ spit to ease the way, but Porthos wasn’t precious. He bore down and Athos worked another joint in, exploring slowly before slipping out. Porthos blinked, watching with heavy-lidded eyes as Aramis took Athos’ hand in his own and worked oil over it generously. When Aramis seemed satisfied, Athos was back, not hesitating to start with two this time.

Porthos sighed. It had been too long—what with how dearly both of them liked to take—and came with a hint of sting. He wasn’t opposed to the feeling, especially when Aramis was slicking his own cock in anticipation. Athos worked him open, his thumb rubbing that spot behind Porthos’ balls whenever Porthos got too tense. That brought his attention away from the strange stretch of Athos twisting his fingers, until his body had adjusted to it.

Truth be told, his knees were complaining more. Balancing over Athos with a week of wrestling bruises was hardly comfortable. Aramis, keen-eyed as ever, took Porthos’ thigh in hand. Athos nodded at Aramis and eased his fingers free, letting Porthos be repositioned. Porthos ended up lying on his side, facing Athos with Aramis at his back. He twisted, seeking Aramis’ mouth and being rewarded with a kiss. The angle was odd, and involved quite a lot of moustache ending up in Porthos’ mouth, but even sideways he could feel how much it made Aramis smile. Athos was touching Porthos’ chest, rolling a nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Porthos rolled his hips back, causing Aramis’ cock to prod him rather impatiently in his lower back. Bumping their noses together with affection, Porthos turned away from Aramis and back to Athos. Athos was still occupying himself with wandering touches, his eyes half-closed.

Aramis rearranged himself, smoothing a hand along Porthos’ side. His touch was confident: he knew every contour and swell of muscle intimately. He cupped the meat of Porthos’ arse, giving it an appreciative squeeze. Porthos brought that leg up, propping it on Athos’ thigh. He couldn’t see Aramis from this angle, but he felt Aramis’ lips brush his shoulder blade. That ghost of a kiss betrayed something far more tender than Aramis’ playful shows of jealousy.  When Aramis’ cock nudged against him, then inside, he felt the quiet breath that followed it. Porthos leaned back against him, until their bodies were flush together. No space between them.

A short moan followed Aramis’ first thrust, and Porthos echoed it. It was only shallow, in this position, but that made it easier; and kept them closer. Aramis held onto his hipbone, ensuring they didn’t slip apart. Then Athos’ hand was there too, his fingers twining with Aramis’. They set a languid, rocking pace. It was hardly going to draw the sharp sparks of feeling Athos’ fingers had tweaked from him, but it built a low, humming pleasure around the base of his spine. His cock twitched against Athos’ belly, and Athos made a soft noise. True to his promise, he was watching Porthos, drinking in the sight. Porthos’ cock was beginning to swell, both from Aramis fucking him and Athos watching him. He almost laughed to himself, at how spoilt he was—then Aramis quickened his pace and it became a gasp.

Athos’ hand slipped away from Porthos’ hip, and Porthos reached out to tether him. But Athos’ touch returned, tickling down Porthos’ waist. Porthos squirmed; Aramis moaned; Athos smirked. Porthos had half a mind to thump him, but then Athos ran two fingers up the underside of Porthos’ cock. Porthos shivered, seeing Athos’ eyes dart across his face to gauge a reaction as he thumbed the head, curled into a grip, and pumped.

Porthos jolted, hooking his leg behind Athos’ thigh to pull him closer. Their foreheads were touching: they breathed the same air. Porthos wanted to reach between them, to take Athos’ cock when it pulsed against the tender skin of Porthos’ stomach, but there wasn’t the space. Besides, he could hardly have done a decent job, with Aramis driving him to distraction.

‘Make him come, Athos?’ Aramis panted, his lips dragging along Porthos’ back.

‘Mmhmm,’ Athos answered, and he nodded at Porthos. Porthos kissed him and Athos didn’t hesitate, crashing their mouths together. His tongue smeared along Porthos’ teeth, plunging into Porthos’ open mouth. Porthos responded in kind, and the ferocity of it summoned a whine from Athos. He was rutting against Porthos’ hip, in far more ragged a rhythm than Aramis’ tight movements. His focus was on Porthos,

‘Make it  _soon_ , Athos’ Aramis hissed through gritted teeth. Athos’ eyes darkened, and his hold tightened. Unthinking, Porthos reached back, snagging Aramis’ hair. He dragged fingers along Aramis’ scalp and Aramis’ hand snaked up Porthos’ chest to clutch his shoulder. His breath came in short bursts on Porthos’ spine.

The orgasm jolted through Porthos. His growl was drowned out by Aramis, who cried out as he felt Porthos tensing. It took only a moment for Aramis to follow, still holding Porthos tightly as he shook. As they caught their breath, Aramis slipped out, but continued to hold Porthos. He peppered Porthos’ back with small, exhausted kisses, and Porthos patted his hair before turning his attention back to Athos. Porthos had made quite a mess of him: he’d apologise if he didn’t know how much Athos liked to be made a mess. Athos was stroking himself, waiting for his fellow Inseparables to disentangle themselves. Aramis propped himself on an elbow to get a better view. Porthos eased his hand around Athos’ cock, taking the downstroke when Athos moved up, flicking his wrist. Athos shut his eyes, letting Porthos take over. Aramis trailed the back of his knuckles over Athos’ side. Simple touches from both of them, but enough to send Athos over the edge. His breath caught as he came, but he made no more sound than that. Porthos eased him through it and Aramis kept petting him, only stopping when Athos opened his eyes and blinked slowly at them. His pupils were blown, blue eclipsed by black, until he tilted his head to let his hair fall in his face.

Aramis darted from the bed then, in spite of Porthos’ growl of complaint. The air was chilly when it met the cooling sweat on his back, but the telltale sound of dripping suggested Aramis was doing the sensible thing and wringing a cloth in Porthos’ washbowl. Sure enough, Aramis returned to dab Athos clean. Athos and Porthos might have lazed in the afterglow, letting Athos suffer when Porthos’ come dried on his chest hair.

Aramis was the one who got them clean enough to sleep through the night together. He snuffed the candles and tossed the cloth away before pulling the covers over the three of them. Porthos rolled over to fit himself against Athos’ chest. Athos settled behind him, a hand resting on Porthos’ waist. Aramis kissed Porthos in the dark: a short, uncomplicated kiss.

‘I’m here,’ Porthos whispered.

Aramis sighed, holding Porthos’ face in his hands. ‘How could I ever doubt it?’

It was a lie, but a sweet one.

**Author's Note:**

> Two more to go! I hope to have them up before the end of the year.


End file.
